


Silk Sheets

by lady_wordsmith



Series: Fire, Faith, and Love (Matt Murdock/Reader) [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Reader-Insert, Romance, Sexual Content, Smut, Vaginal Sex, and it leads to sex, you do something nice for Matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_wordsmith/pseuds/lady_wordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So you have no idea why Matt always seems so uncomfortable staying over at your place. When he explains about your sheets, you feel rather stupid in retrospect. So you buy silk sheets because the one thing you want is for Matt to be comfortable.<br/>This leads to sex. You're not going to complain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> translations and notes at the end as always.

“Matt, Is there a reason you don’t stay at my place that often?” You ask him this as the two of you are getting back to your place after going out for breakfast.

“What? I stay at your place all the time.” He says, but you can see he is visibly nervous.

“No, not really. I stay at your place more often. Oh, and you’re always up first when you stay the night. What’s up with that?” You’re curious, but you’re trying not to send Matt on the attack. You just noticed he displays some really weird behaviors when he’s over at your place.

“I-Can we talk about this when we get to your apartment?” he asks.

You pause, wondering why the hell Matt is so nervous. “Sure,” you say finally.

When the two of you get back to your apartment, he explains about your sheets, which in retrospect, made a ridiculous amount of sense to you. Of course your boyfriend with ridiculous super senses would be uncomfortable on cotton sheets. Still, when you ask him what kind of fabric you should get instead, it’s clear he expects you to laugh, call him spoiled, and tell him to get over it. He doesn’t expect you to go with it.

“I guess I’ll just buy silk sheets then.” You tell him, smiling faintly and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll need your help, though. Just so I don’t end up buying cheap polyester or something. I don’t know the first thing about bedsheet fabric.”

He clearly did not expect that.

“Okay.” He sounds surprised, and it makes you laugh.

“Matt, if it gets you to relax and stay overnight, I’ll do whatever you ask. I **want** you to be comfortable at my place.” You tell him. He smiles at that.

The two of you make a date to go sheet shopping the next weekend. Normally you’d just buy the sheets over the internet, but Matt insists that you need to physically feel the sheets, that you can’t just go by price and description. He obviously still feels embarrassed, but you kiss him and tell him it’s alright, he makes you happy and you want him comfortable.

So of course when you actually went sheet shopping, they didn’t have them in any colors you liked.

“Why dark colors? The dye will leech out eventually and it’ll fade.” he tells you.

“Because waking up in the middle of the night to find you have to clean menstrual blood off your sheets is the worst thing in the world, Matt. I’m already crampy and irritated when that happens, even with faded dark sheets I can just throw them in the wash and not worry. Light-colored sheets mean soaking them to get the blood stain out, which probably won’t work anyway. Light-colored sheets mean work. No. We’re getting dark sheets, preferably black, and that is final. You may know everything there is to know about the silk sheets you want me to get, but I’m choosing the color here.” You tell him. “If you put up a fight about this, Matt, I swear I will invoke _niddah_ and then we both suffer.”

Matt’s trying not to laugh the entire time, and you don’t even detect a hint of embarrassment from him when you say the words ‘menstrual blood.’ You imagine his super senses leave him more aware of your cycle than you yourself are, and in any case, he’s blind and arguing about sheet color is probably **not** the hill he wants to die on.

His smile fades a bit once you mention invoking _niddah_. Even with his being Daredevil, the two of you share a bed more often than not. He doesn’t say it often, but even on your uncomfortable sheets, he loves sharing a bed with you and getting to be close to you. You’ve woken up more than once to find Matt fully awake, his arms around you or his head on your chest, listening to your breathing and heartbeat.

You love it, too. But damn it, dark sheets will make your life a million times easier, and that is a hill **you’re** willing to die on.

“Fair point. Dark it is.” He says.

The saleswoman in the housewares department finally notices you (or maybe decided that since the argument seemed over, it was safe to approach), and you explain your dilemma. Thankfully, she tells you that she could place an order for any sheets you might like in any number of different colors and have it delivered to your apartment. From there, you let Matt take over, talking with the saleslady about things like the quality of the sheets, whether they were machine washable and something called momme weight and the difference between Charmeuse and Habotai.

In short, you have no idea. You only give the lady your card when she puts the order in, and thank her for her help. You ask Matt what all that was about, but he smiles and tells you you’ll understand when you get the sheet set.

“I just spent three hundred dollars on a sheet set sight unseen and without even knowing what I was buying,” you tell him. “ **How** is this different than the internet, again?”

“Trust me, sweetheart.” He tells you.

“These sheets better be hand-woven by virgins and imbued with the magic of unicorns for that price, Murdock.” You shoot back with a smile.

Matt shuts you up with a kiss.

* * *

So when the sheets finally arrive a week later, you check them over carefully. They’re black, just like you asked for, and machine washable, though you’ll have to use the delicates cycle and a special detergent and be careful with the dryer. You brush the sheets against your cheek. They’re soft and not slippery against your skin at all. They feel like heaven. Maybe not hand-woven by delicate virgin maidens or imbued with magic unicorn powers, but they are a soft you can’t really describe. They’re thick, too; not thin and drape-y like the silk dress you had worn for your _bat mitzvah_ , but thick and sturdy while still feeling delicate in your hands.

You head down to your apartment building’s laundry room with them, remembering the way your grandmother used to wash sheets before putting them on the bed for the first time. Something about preventing dye-leeching and softening the sheets even more, you remember.  That was probably a lie that your _Oma_ told to cover up weird superstitions from the old country about sheets and beds and maybe ghosts or some crap. Either way, it’s pretty much the only housekeeping tip you know from her, other than putting salt in the pockets of new clothes and chewing on the thread as you mend a garment. Those two are definitely superstitions, but damned if you haven’t done them once or twice.

But the sheets await. You have the stupid fancy special detergent and you’re checking the care tag carefully because if you fuck this up and have to buy another three hundred dollar set of sheets, you **will** murder someone.

Not Matt, though. You just want him to be comfortable.

You manage to get the sheets washed and dried without fucking it up, murdering someone, or wondering why the hell silk needs a fancy detergent (okay, the last one is a lie. You wondered once. Maybe twice. Shut up.). When you take the sheets out of the dryer, they’re still intact and even softer than before. You send a silent thanks to your _Oma_ for repeatedly telling you about the sheet thing and get them together to go on your bed.

As you head back up to your apartment from the laundry room, you spy Matt coming into your apartment building.

“Are you psychic now, too?” you call out. Matt turns his head in your direction and smiles.

“I thought laundry day was tomorrow,” he says.

“Got the sheets today. I was giving them a wash before putting them on the bed.” You tell him as the two of you head for the elevator.

“You just got them. They’re never going to be that clean again.”

“Old ritual. Don’t ask.” You’re not going into your _Oma_ ’s weird habits with Matt. Those discussions are always kind of weird and you’re not sure Matt’s ever truly appreciated the deep German accent you affect when imitating your _Oma_ saying, “This _ist_ how it _ist_ done, _mein kind_.”

He always thinks you’re making fun of her, but you’re not. She really did speak that way, except for the _mein kind_. She used your family nickname, but you’re not ready to share that little piece of yourself with Matt yet.

You and Matt get off the elevator and go into your apartment. Matt goes to the living room while you excuse yourself to put the sheets on the bed. You get it done quickly, make the bed, and get ready to go join Matt in the living room, only to turn and find him standing at your bedroom doorway.

You give an exaggerated sigh. “I **just** made the bed, Matt.” You say, but the teasing in your voice is evident.

Matt steps forward, into the room. You take a step back, lightly hitting the foot of the bed with the backs of your knees. Matt pauses at the sounds, but when you give no sound or sign of injury, he continues.

“Can I help it if you’re the most tempting woman I’ve ever met?” he asks, stepping even closer. He’s lowered his voice in that way that always lets you know he wants you, the one that gets you wet before he’s even touched you.

“Wouldn’t say that if you could see me.” You tease. Matt closes the distance between you, grabbing you by the waist and gently nipping at your neck. His breath is hot on your neck. Every part of him feels like fire melting you away, leaving only the bare essences of desire and lust.

“Never insult yourself like that, sweetheart.” He says, and the tone and cadence of his voice is still at that lower register, but his words are soft and tender, and it feels like melting and floating all at once, and he’s barely even touched you save for his hands on your waist and the nip to your neck. You’re not even naked and he’s already working his magic on you, making you dizzy with his actions and your desire.

He unbuttons your blouse slowly, kissing every expanse of skin that each button reveals. You can feel his smile against your skin when he realizes you’re braless underneath, and your hands immediately fly into his hair when he turns his mouth’s attention to your breasts, licking and sucking and biting on each nipple, but only briefly, just enough to tease you and leave you whimpering as he returns to the task of removing your clothes. Once the blouse is completely off, he gently pushes you onto the bed, letting your knees hit the foot of it again. He doesn’t hover over your skin as he removes your pants quickly, throwing them to the side. It’s only when they’re gone that he looks up at you with a devilish grin, and before you have time to react, he slides a finger against your panties, pressing the fabric just slightly so that it rubs against your slit and offers your clit a brief, clothing-covered whisper of sensation.

It both startles and arouses you insanely. The sound you make barely sounds like you. It’s not a whimper, a moan, or even a cry of pleasure. It sounds like some deep plea from the depths of your soul. Matt makes no attempt to shush you, instead sliding to his knees and tonguing you through your panties. You’re faintly aware of him removing them with his teeth and tossing them aside before he puts his mouth on you again, his tongue and lips and even gentle nips of his teeth offering you sensations that nearly send you to the brink.

He stops when you pull his hair. You let out a cry of protest as he stands, try to tell him you don’t want him to stop, but he smiles at you, that soft faint fond smile when he thinks you’re not paying attention or asleep or too out of it.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells you. “Can you stand up for me, sweetheart?”

He holds out his hands to you, and you take them. Your legs feel like jelly as he lifts you up. He gives you a soft, gentle kiss before moving his lips to your ear.

“Get in bed, sweetheart.” He tells you.

You utter another cry of protest, but this one is half-hearted.

“I just washed those sheets.” You joke, and Matt smiles and kisses you again.

“Don’t tell me this hasn’t been on your mind since we bought them.” Matt replies, the entire time pulling you along from the foot of the bed to the side of it, pulling the covers back with one hand as his other arm keeps a firm hold on you.

“Well, yes, but you were wearing a lot less clothes on this particular train of thought,” you say, sitting on the bed and sliding to lie underneath the covers.

Matt laughs, but he complies. As he removes his clothes, you close your eyes and slide your skin along the new sheets. Your arousal and sensitivity makes them feel even better.

Matt pulls the covers back and you open your eyes at the sudden feel of cool air. Your eyes drift down to Matt’s cock. He’s hard and you haven’t even touched him. Matt had told you once that it turned him on just knowing how he could unravel you, the way he knew your body and its responses. As he climbs into bed after you, you roll away just enough that he can’t get on top of you just yet. He may be hard now, but you still want to return the favor.

“Sweetheart?” he asks, looking confused. You smile.

“Lay back, Matt. Please?” you ask, trying to sound innocent.

“You don’t have to.” He says.

“Matt, lay back or the next sentence out of my mouth is going to sound like something out of an obscene and badly acted porno.”

Neither one of you can keep a straight face after that. You both laugh, and Matt is laughing so hard he reclines back like you asked. You see your chance and take it.

You maneuver yourself so that you’re between Matt’s legs, eye-level with his cock. He’s still trying to get his breath back, and nearly leaps off the bed when he feels your mouth on the head of his cock. You pull back a little, but only to let your tongue swirl around the head. Matt moans and puts a hand in your hair, but makes no move to pull you up.

You put your mouth on his cock again, taking more and more of him in. Despite his earlier attempt to reassure you that you didn’t have to, you take his little pants and moans as encouragement. You have never been able to take all of Matt’s cock in your mouth, but you make up for that with obvious enthusiasm.

That, and the fact you’re well-crafted in the use of your hands.

You take as much of Matt’s cock in your mouth as you can, and wrap one of your hands around the rest of his shaft. Your other hand moves to gently cup Matt’s balls. As your mouth travels up and down Matt’s cock, the hand around it follows, while your other hand massages Matt’s balls with a gentle and practiced movement.

“Jesus Christ.” Matt pants out.

You take your mouth off of Matt’s cock with an audible pop, but your hands continue to massage him.

“Allegedly.” You tease, increasing the speed of your hands.

Your attempt to tease him doesn’t last too long. His hands leave your hair and grab yours pulling you up and maneuvering you onto your back.

“You… are a very evil woman,” he tells you, his mouth catching yours in a savage kiss as he moves to lie on top of you and slides inside you in one smooth movement.

“And you love it,” you tell him as he pulls away from the kiss and begins thrusting inside you.

His thrusts start out in a smooth and steady rhythm, but as he leans down to kiss and bite at your neck, they become more erratic. You move your hips in time with his, trying to keep him as close as possible.

It’s not just about physical need, you think as Matt intertwines his hands in yours and holds onto you tightly. Something about sex with Matt transcends the physical. It’s emotional, sure, but there’s something else there, too. Something almost spiritual in the way your bodies move together. Because it’s not just bodies, it’s souls and it’s hearts and it’s love in spite of everything. You sometimes think making love is a cheesy phrase even now, but it’s the closest sort of thing to words that you can put to the act.

Because right now, it’s not just about getting off, or about breaking in the new silk sheets. Something in the way Matt touches you and the way you touch him… It defies everything, it’s beyond words and actions and any sort of human experience.

Your orgasm hits you almost totally unaware. Your hands clasp Matt’s as hard as they can, and it’s so intense that to you, you’re almost soundless. To Matt’s ears, though, the quiet gasp is loud and divine, and it’s that and the tightness of you and the way your hands clamp on his that brings his own orgasm on.

The two of you lie together quietly afterward, Matt still on top of you even as he slides out of you. The only sounds you’re aware of are of your breathing reaching equilibrium and the slight rustling of the silk sheets around you. Your eyes are closed and you’re drifting pleasantly in the aftermath, only faintly aware of Matt stroking your hair.

You know the words are on Matt’s lips, but he doesn’t say them, instead kissing your forehead and then laying his own forehead against yours.

You know he loves you.

As you come back to yourselves, Matt moves off of you, instead lying beside you and sliding an arm around you. You can barely conceal a yawn, while makes him chuckle. He doesn’t tell you to sleep, but you can see he’s teetering on the edge of falling asleep himself.

You can’t resist getting one last dig in, though, before you fall asleep.

“If I have to keep washing the sheets this often, you’re buying the detergent, Murdock.” You mumble, moving closer to him and laying your head on his chest.

The sound and feel of the laughter in his chest is the sound that lulls you to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> - _Niddah_ : a Hebrew term generally meaning uncleanliness, but often used specifically in describing a woman who is menstruating, or a woman who has finished menstruating but hasn't completed the required immersion in a _mikveh_ (ritual bath). Women who are _niddah_ are seen as being ritually impure. Jewish law prohibits a man from having sex or even sharing a bed with a woman who is _niddah_ , which generally lasts for the length of the menstruation and, depending on which Jewish tradition is followed, a certain number of days after menstruation ceases. Basically, when the Reader Character is threatening in invoke _niddah_ , she's telling Matt that he won't be able to share her bed or have sex with her for a period of time that, to Matt, would probably seen as lengthy. Never mind Matt isn't Jewish and wouldn't necessarily have to follow the custom, but he would out of respect for her religion, even if it _is_ just a tactic to get her way.  
>  - _bat mitzvah_ : Hebrew; literally "daughter of the commandment." You've probably heard of _bar mitzvah_ , which is the male equivalent. In any case, it's a coming-of-age ritual in Judaism, where at the age of 13 (for boys in all traditions and girls in Reform Judaism) or 12 (for girls in Conservative or Orthodox traditions), the bar or bat mitzvah in question is now considered responsible for their own religious education (which was previously the duty of one's parents) and are allowed to participate in all aspects of Jewish life. Most people are familiar with the party aspect of it, but there's also a large religious aspect, involving religious readings and other customs. The _bar mitzvah_ has been celebrated for centuries, but the _bat mitzvah_ (as the Reader Character would have undergone) is a relatively new concept, and customs vary by tradition.  
>  - _Oma_ : again, German for grandmother.  
> - _ist_ : German for is, obviously. But, as my own grandmother would say, when the new English word you learn is so close to the old word that the only difference is a single letter and you still have an accent, it's going to come out like you're mixing languages no matter what you do. So the Reader Character's _oma_ was probably saying is, having it come out as _ist_ due to the accent, and the imitation falls flat because Matt thinks it's a joke on accents when it's really just how language works.  
>  _mein kind_ : German for my child. In this case, the Reader Character _is_ using speech pattern stereotypes to avoid telling Matt her childhood nickname (and I'm saying this now, it's not because it's embarrassing, it's simply because certain parts of her life are probably strange to explain to Matt; in my own experience, to explain a part of your life as a Jew, you have to also explain five other parts that may only be tangibly related)
> 
> The chewing on thread as you mend a garment and putting salt in the pockets of new clothes are actual Jewish superstitions. The washing new sheets thing is just something my own grandmothers did, on both sides of the family (Jewish and non-Jewish). I'm inclined to believe it's to prevent dye-leeching and to remove any unknown substances that may have been on the sheets during production, but maybe I just had weird grandmothers.


End file.
